


You Are Here

by williamshatspeare



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamshatspeare/pseuds/williamshatspeare
Summary: Captain Pike was kind, and firm, and it was an honor to serve under him. He devoted himself to the service. He did not smile often, a fact for which Spock was grateful, as he was therefore never expected to smile in return.But Captain Kirk was different. Captain Kirk smiled easily. He smiled whenever the crew discovered something new and wonderful. He smiled when they managed to get through something terrible. When the Enterprise was soaring through space, and it was quiet on the bridge, Jim would turn to Spock and smile like he was telling him a secret. Spock always kept it.He knew the word for what he felt, had heard it roll so easily off the tongues of his peers at the Academy, of his crewmates on the Enterprise then, and his crewmates on the Enterprise now. But the word didn’t belong to him, so he dispelled it from his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hover over vulcan words and phrases for translations!
> 
> this is a spock-centric k/s fic that will follow spock's life from his childhood on vulcan up through the motion picture (eventually, probably). if you notice something that conflicts egregiously with canon please let me know and i will be happy to [tell you to get a life.](http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/trekkies/n9511?snl=1)
> 
> also, this is based on tos, but when i think of pike i think of bruce greenwood. i don't care for that jeffrey hunter fella.
> 
>  
> 
> if you like this story please consider [donating to my paypal](https://paypal.me/williamshatspeare)!

 

* * *

 

 _❝ The ultimate American icon is the astronaut: Who is more heroic, or more alone? ❞_ _ 1 _

 

* * *

 

Above Shi’Kahr, the Vulcan sun cut through the thin atmosphere and reached for the ground. Where its rays were blocked from their destination by a building, glares formed in glass windows, sharpening the light that was accustomed to settling over flat expanses of sand.

Spock’s inner eyelids shuttered against the bright light. He heard the door seal behind him, straightened his posture and willed away the anxiety that surely showed through the cracks in his expression. Sarek would tell him to focus on relaxing each muscle in his face. Sarek would never see him again.

The bag over his shoulder contained a map, four tightly rolled changes of robes and several replicator chips he’d programmed using his mother’s recipes. Plomeek soup, mia-zed, farr-kahli, apple pie. Amanda had been delighted when her son displayed an interest in learning to cook, but her enthusiasm became suspicion when he asked her to teach him how to make the quintessential American dessert.

“You have stated that the taste of apple pie evokes memories of your childhood on Earth,” he’d explained to her. “I am merely curious as to whether I would experience memories of my own infancy upon tasting it.”

The muscles in his face tensed as she laughed at this hypothesis.

“Spock,” she smiled. “The reason it reminds me of my childhood is because my mother used to make it for me when I was young, so I associate the taste of apple pie with that time. It’s a sense memory; it makes me think of summertime, and climbing trees, and all those things. It’s an  _emotional_ memory,” she ended with a wink.

Was this an emotional memory?

No, he decided. Recollection of past events serves to inform future decisions and prevent mistakes. In this case, being able to recall the afternoon when his mother taught him how to make apple pie would be useful if there were ever a replicator malfunction that rendered his programmed chips useless. He walked briskly in the direction of the terminal.

“Will Sarek return before dinner?” he’d asked.

“ _Your father_ will not be home until tomorrow evening,” she said after a sigh. Spock had begun calling his father by his given name last year. His mother had been appalled; if Sarek noticed, he said nothing. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“If I had known, why would I have asked?” Spock parried.

“Careful, dear,” she said, holding up a stilling hand. She knew better, after 13 years, than to touch him. “Don’t cut so close to your fingertips. You’ll slice one off.”

Spock looked down at his hands and saw that the blade was five millimeters from his index finger.

“Don't forget to move your fingers out of the way as you go,” she said. Amanda demonstrated the proper technique on her own apple slice. “Like this.”

Spock stumbled away from the man he’d just collided with.

“[Ni'droi'ik nar-tor](/),” he said.

The man raised an eyebrow at him before continuing on his way. Spock wasn’t focused on shielding; no doubt he had transferred some of his emotions to this stranger.

 _Center yourself_ , he thought. He had spent days planning his departure, and had timed it perfectly—any distractions could cause delays, and any delays could cause his plan to fail. Spock let go of the memory of that afternoon with his mother, allowed it to settle in its proper place in the back of his mind. Then, he let go of the thought of his mother, and then of the thought of family, and then of the thought of home. What remained was his destination, and with that in mind, Spock again headed for the terminal, faster now, to make up for the time he had wasted.

 

 

The Shi’Kahr Central Terminal was large but well-ordered. It was often useful for Spock to picture the layout of the terminal whenever he needed to memorize and arrange a large amount of related information. In the past, Sarek had discouraged this—he didn't understand why a visual aid was necessary when the terminal itself was unrelated to the information being committed to memory. To him, it was a sign of mental weakness to rely on mnemonic devices.

Amanda had given him an old map of the terminal when he was a small child. It was the very first item she acquired on Vulcan, she told him—the second, she joked, was her [tufeen hushani](/). Spock wondered why she had kept an item that she had not needed in so many years, but nevertheless accepted the gift with gratitude, and soon found that he enjoyed studying it. He studied it so much that he was able to recall every detail, from the “WELCOME” of a dozen languages written at the top to the number of drinking fountains and their every location.

Spock followed the stream of people from the entrance. One by one, people separated from the group and disappeared into passages that led to the various types of available transportation. Some of them would beam up to starships, bound for other planets, other galaxies. The maglev trains to other Vulcan regions—Spock’s destination—boarded at the back of the terminal.

A pair of Tellarites walking just ahead of Spock argued loudly over directions. As their gestures drew near violence, Spock decided to intervene.

“Gentlemen,” he interjected. The Tellarites whipped around, their anger at one another refocusing on him. Spock produced the map his mother had given him. “If you are disoriented, you may refer to this. I no longer require it.”

One of the Tellarites snatched the map out of his hands, causing Spock to nearly jump backward. He smashed his index finger into the small, mobile dot on the map, accompanied by the phrase “YOU ARE HERE,” which represented their present location.

“Look! We are here,” he told his companion. “We must keep going this way.”

“No!” the companion argued. “The map knows nothing. We must turn around.”

“Ignorant clown, you will make us late!” the first Tellarite bellowed.

_“I would rather be five years late than say you are right!”_

Deciding he could contribute nothing more, Spock brushed past the stubborn pair and made his way toward the back of the terminal. He knew exactly where he needed to go.

 

 

“Sybok,” Spock greeted, raising the [ta’al](/). “[Dif-tor heh smusma](/).”

“Spock!” His half-brother grinned, moving in to embrace him. Spock took a sharp step back, and Sybok recovered himself, smile dimming slightly. “What brings you here?” He ushered Spock into the entryway and motioned for him to set down his bag. Spock complied.

“I have determined that living at home with mother and father is detrimental to my focus,” he said. “Moving away from the city and from their influence should prove beneficial to my education. If I expect to matriculate at the Vulcan Science Academy, I must be able to devote all my attention to my studies.”

“Oh?” Sybok raised an eyebrow. “In what way is it detrimental?”

Spock considered how best to explain it. “Mother attempts to draw out my human side. Sarek urges me to conceal it. The dissonance between their aspirations for me creates tension.”

“ _‘Sarek’_?!” Sybok blurted, then threw his head back and laughed. Spock’s mouth twitched at the display, but he remained still and silent. The laughter faded, though the smile remained on Sybok’s face as he continued, “Come on, brother. You look hungry.” He took Spock’s arm to lead him into the kitchen.

Spock inhaled sharply at the intensity of the emotions that suffused into him from the point of contact: surprise, confusion, worry, gladness.

 _poor kid_  
_got taller_  
_looks like dad_

He jerked away from Sybok’s touch.

“You are not shielding,” he accused.

Sybok drew himself back, hesitated. “No. I... have not shielded in a long time.” His face fell, revealing embarrassment but also indignation. “You did not warn me of your arrival. I had no time to prepare.”

Spock felt a pang of shame, reminded himself that he was a younger brother, and a guest—perhaps even an unwelcome one. “I apologize. It was not my place.”

Sybok dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “It is of no consequence. Come.”

 

 

It was customary, on Vulcan, for a host to prepare a meal for their guest, but Spock did not want to be any more of a burden to Sybok than he had to be.

“It is unnecessary to cook for me,” he protested as Sybok reached a pan down from a high cupboard. “I have replicator chips programmed with a variety of recipes.”

“They will not be of much use without a replicator.” Sybok smiled at Spock, then continued to gather utensils.

Spock blinked. “You have no replicator?”

Sybok shrugged. “I don't require one. I don’t  _want_  one.”

“There are inexpensive models which would fall within your price range,” Spock intoned, uncomprehending. “Although they may not have the capacity of costlier models, they would surely be suitable for someone who lives alone. If you are experiencing financial difficulty, I am sure Mother could be persuaded to—”

“Spock,” Sybok interrupted. “Think of it like this. Isn’t it logical to develop an independence from technology? To have the skills necessary for survival in situations where you don’t have access to replicators, or to other machines?”

Spock considered this. “Perhaps. What is illogical is refraining from the use of the technology altogether. Technology is, by definition, useful. The time spent preparing a meal manually could be better applied to other pursuits.”

“Doesn’t mother prepare meals manually?” Sybok challenged.

“ _Mother_ is human.”

Sybok stared at him without speaking, and Spock felt his cheeks heat against his will. He had not meant to disparage, only to state a fact. He never failed to defend his mother from the children and adults who mocked her. It never occurred to him before that perhaps he harbored some resentment of his own.

“You have much to learn, indeed,” Sybok murmured, and turned back to his task. “Now, what would you like to eat?”

 

 

It should not have surprised Spock, really, that Sybok contacted Sarek and Amanda as soon as he fell asleep. His action was logical—he was not Spock's guardian, and could not be. Spock's actions, on the other hand, were grossly lacking in forethought. Even if Sybok had not taken the initiative to inform their parents, how could he imagine that he would not be discovered? That Amanda would not immediately notice his absence when she returned home, and that Sarek would not immediately deduce the identity of the only person who would take him in?

Spock awoke in the morning to a prepared breakfast and a new train ticket and the naked stupidity of his plan laid before him. Sybok smiled at him in an odd sort of way, said his goodbyes without touching him, and then sent him back the way he came.

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

A knock at his bedroom door startled Spock; he quickly placed his PADD face-down on his desk. “Come in.”

Sarek entered the room, his movements as stiff as ever. Spock instinctively rose from his desk chair, as if standing at attention.

“[Ha'tha ti'lu](/), Spock. You received a message sixteen minutes ago. You have been accepted into Starfleet Academy.”

Emotion struck too rapidly for Spock to suppress it: first elation at the news, then terror at the implications, followed by a resurgence of the elation and finally unease as he anticipated Sarek’s reaction.

“Thank you for informing me. I am... pleased,” he said.

Sarek nodded. “It is an impressive achievement. Whether the choice to attend is wise or not, your [navun](/) stands on its own merit.”

On another day, Spock might have quibbled with Sarek over this statement. He might have analyzed it, attempting to determine whether the primary intent was to praise the achievement or to critique the decision. He might have pried; he might have pushed.

“Thank you, father,” he said simply.

Sarek nodded again, slower this time. He turned, as if to leave the room, but then aborted the motion halfway.

“You already know that I hold both institutions in high esteem. I suppose that this knowledge will do nothing to change your response when I urge you once again to reverse your decision regarding the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“No, it will not,” Spock stated.

His father sighed, and irritation pricked him. “Will you inform your mother, or shall I?”

“I will inform her,” he said. As Sarek turned again to leave, Spock could not stop himself from adding, “It is considered improper to open another’s messages.”

Sarek paused, then faced his son again. “I am aware. You are entitled to your privacy. However, in this instance, I was anticipating this news of yours with some... anxiety.”

Spock was taken aback. For Sarek to admit to experiencing any emotion was rare; for him to admit to experiencing ‘anxiety’ would be unbelievable if Spock had not just witnessed it. Even among emotions—all of them irrational and ambiguous in their own right—‘anxiety’ was particularly imprecise. It could imply apprehension, which could lead to at least two different conclusions: that Sarek worried Spock would not be accepted, and therefore doubted his academic ability; or that Sarek worried Spock _would_ be accepted and intended to continue pressuring him to attend the VSA. Alternatively, it could imply excitement, which could also lead to multiple conclusions: that his father was proud of his accomplishment, or that his father was eager to be rid of him.

“That is all I wished to report,” Sarek said, hurrying now to leave. “You are free to continue your studies.”

Spock nodded dumbly as his father exited the room, the door sealing behind him. After a beat, he picked the PADD back up from his desk and willed himself to focus once more on the text he was reading about Terran geography.

 

 

Despite her usual success in abstaining, Amanda could not stop herself from hugging Spock when he delivered the news. His error was in waiting for her to return home before telling her, rather than simply sending her a message which she could receive while she was out; had he done that, she might have been able to calm herself and process her unruly emotions before they saw each other. But something had caused him to wait.

“Spock, I swear,” she chattered as they sat at the dinner table, going on her twenty-fifth consecutive minute of praising him, “you’ll be captain of a starship before you even graduate. I know it. I know it!”

“Mother,” he chided her.

“That is impossible, Amanda,” Sarek said diplomatically as he sliced a vegetable into small, perfect cubes. “Spock would need to perform extraordinarily well on his entire curriculum and receive multiple lower-level commissions before he could be considered for such a position. It will likely be twenty years before captaincy is even a possibility. That is also assuming Spock intends to seek such an ambitious station.”

“Sarek!” Amanda chided him.

“He is correct, mother,” Spock said coldly. “It is unnecessary and unproductive to make wild predictions about my future prospects. Rather, we should maintain focus on what is directly in front of us.”

“My delicious, Vulcan-famous Plomeek soup, you mean. Fine.”

 

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

Humans function most efficiently when they have adequate company. Without it, they are at risk of feeling loneliness, which can lead to a depressed emotional state, poor performance in their studies and work, and even neglect of personal hygiene. In light of this, it is easy to understand why the Academy elects to pair all first-year students with roommates: it provides the students with guaranteed socialization, which, in theory, prevents isolation and ultimately leads to improved academic outcomes. The benefits of this system for human students are clear.

However, I am not human. 

A knock at the door startled Spock, and he placed his PADD face-down on his new, Academy-issued mattress. His message to the housing office could wait, though not for long.

He walked stiffly to the door and opened it, revealing a short human male with well-combed brown hair. The boy instantly broke into a smile.

“You’re Spock, aren’t you?” he asked, holding out a hand. “I’m Kevin, pleasure to meet you. Told my mates back home I was gonna be rooming with a Vulcan and none of them believed me!” His smile dimmed a bit as he realized Spock was not shaking his hand, until he realized his error and yanked his hand back as if it had touched a hot stove. “Oh, sorry about that! I guess it’s true what they say, that you’re not big on touching. That’s alright. We Irish aren’t too crazy about it either. Think my mother hugged me once when I fell off my tricycle and then never again. Ah, looks like you already picked your side. Whoa, is that a chessboard? Why’s it go up and down like that?”

“It adds another level of strategic complexity to the game,” Spock said as he tried to place himself in between the tri-dimensional chessboard and his new, prying roommate.

“Neat. Is it a Vulcan thing?”

“It was originally invented by Starfleet officers stationed on a low-gravity planet. Whether they were human, Vulcan, or otherwise, I do not know.”

“Neat anyway. Where’re you going?”

Spock was packing his bag with his PADD and a pair of gloves. “I’m afraid I have an appointment with the housing office in seventeen minutes," he said, though he had arranged no such appointment.

Kevin was quiet for two full seconds. “Got it. Well, best be off then. Don’t let me keep you. Geez, isn’t it all the way across campus? How’re you gonna get there in seven—”

The voice of Spock’s soon-to-be-former roommate cut off sharply as he closed the door behind him.

 

 

The woman he met with at the housing office understood both the nature and the urgency of Spock’s complaint, and arranged for him to be switched into a single room in a building primarily occupied by upperclassmen. There, he could have his privacy and avoid the sloppy affair of having a human roommate. Additionally, the woman explained, the building would be much quieter than the one to which he was first assigned.

“First year students are kind of known for going overboard with the partying and such,” she said.

“‘Going overboard’?” Spock was alarmed.

“Getting out of control, with the partying. You know. Drinking and acting foolish.”

“I see.” Sarek had complained on a few occasions about the behavior of other ambassadors after conferences. Alcoholic drinks had this effect on certain species, including humans. He would need to keep this in mind for the future.

“Anyway, it should be less of a problem in the senior dorms. At least that’s what I hear. But don’t hesitate to come back and talk to me if it is a problem. Or if there’s another problem, you know.”

Spock nodded. Her uncertainty perturbed him.

 

 

Kevin was nowhere to be found when Spock returned to the room to retrieve his things. This relieved some of his anxiety, though he did not quite know why—perhaps simply because he did not have to listen to the boy’s incessant chatter. Yes, that was the reason, he determined.

The upperclass dorms were indeed quieter than the bustling first-year dorms. He was pleased to discover that many students were already in the study lounge, hard at work, getting ahead of their readings. Once he had moved all his belongings into his new room, he decided to join them.

He sat down at a table next to a young man who had a hand fisted in his hair as he stared unblinkingly down at a complex mathematical problem—complex, but not too difficult. He helpfully noted the theorem which was the key to solving it; but the young man just scowled at him before gathering his papers and moving to another seat.

Spock took a deep breath. He could feel the tension in his shoulders, in his stomach, in his brow; one by one, he relaxed them. He took the PADD out of his bag and reopened the message he had begun writing to the housing office.

_I am not human._

He deleted the message. As he had already been reassigned, it was no longer necessary.

 

 

Spock's mother called him twenty times during his first month at the Academy. He answered eight of those calls, each time explaining that he was fine and that his classes seemed challenging but not overwhelming and that he had found several nearby restaurants which served nourishing vegetarian food and that he had indeed remembered to pack the wool gloves she made for him to wear in the brisk August weather of San Francisco. Each time, he also assured her that he had encountered no incidents of anti-Vulcan bias.

“Don’t lie to me because you don’t want me to worry, Spock,” she said. “I know how it is to be the only one in the whole world who’s different. I don’t want anybody giving you any trouble for that.”

“I am not the only non-human on Earth, mother,” he reminded her. “Nor am I the only non-human at Starfleet, or even the only non-human in my building.”

“But you are the only one who’s like you,” she said.

Spock was momentarily brought up short by the truth of this and by the dual sensations of warmth and icy cold in his chest. “My studies have not been negatively impacted by that fact.”

He watched his mother’s sigh from 94 trillion miles away. “Okay, Spock. Just remember that I love you.”

“It would be difficult to forget,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

* * *

 

An enterprise is an undertaking which requires not only considerable effort but also considerable bravery. It was understandable, then, why the starship NCC-1701—Spock’s new assignment—was named for this concept; the operation of a starship indeed required both the efforts and the bravery of hundreds of hard-working, intelligent crewmembers, from down in the engineering decks all the way up to the captain’s chair.

Hundreds of hard-working, intelligent crewmembers who were currently congregated in one room, which seemed to grow smaller by the minute, buzzing around it like so many bees in a hive.

Most of Spock’s soon-to-be crewmates seemed in good spirits as they awaited boarding, though he spotted several who appeared to share his discomfort and scowled whenever others bumped into them. To avoid such contact, Spock had planted himself firmly in the corner of the room with his hands folded behind his back. He breathed deeply, focused on the soft sound of it and the rise and fall of his chest: smooth, rhythmic and controlled, unlike the whirring chaos that surrounded him.

“...Spock!”

The sound of his own name cut through the din. He turned 47 degrees to the left and was met with the sight of a bright-haired Orion female shoving her way through the crowd of humans.

“...move it, please. Thank you. Oh my god, Spock, it’s been forever! Can you believe we actually got commissioned?”

It had indeed been quite some time since he had seen Gaila. The two of them had been assigned to work on a project together in Exochemistry, and since then Gaila seemed to consider him a companion. As they were both on the science track, they had several courses in common in the following years, and each time Gaila would attempt to include him in her “study groups.” Spock always declined, but this fact never deterred her.

“Gaila. You look well,” he greeted her.

“Oh, I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I do not.”

Gaila laughed and then continued to chatter about how long it had been since they last spoke and what she had been busy with lately, occasionally asking Spock questions which she did not wait to hear the answer to. While he typically found this kind of behavior unappealing in his human classmates, he had always felt a certain solidarity with Gaila, who also experienced the exoticization and stigma of being a non-human in Starfleet. It was an unfair bias, he knew, on par with the same tribalism that he normally found himself on the wrong side of. Still, he could not help but feel just a bit more secure in her presence.

Spock scanned the group, curious to see if he recognized anyone else out of the new crewmembers. A tall woman with black hair, pale skin, and red lips caught his eye. She did not seem excited or nervous like most of the new recruits; in fact, her face betrayed almost no emotion at all. He quickly noted the rounded eyebrows, but for a brief moment, he nearly mistook her for a Vulcan.

Gaila followed his gaze. “That’s Number One. She’s been with Pike forever. In more ways than one, rumor has it.” She smiled and then blinked only one eye, which Spock found unusual. Perhaps it was a facial tic.

“I am unsure of your meaning.”

Gaila rolled her eyes. “I mean that people say they’re involved. Romantically. Or sexually, if you prefer.”

Spock’s brow furrowed briefly before he willed away the expression. “I have no preference in that regard.”

She laughed again, louder this time. “Well, anyways, it’s just a rumor. A totally, obviously true rumor.”

He looked back at Number One, cool and composed. Despite the limited space, she did not have to suffer jostling by the new recruits, as they seemed to give her a wide berth. Captain Pike himself had now joined her and was gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke, a sharp contrast to his first officer and, ostensibly, lover. “Fascinating.”

“Girl, tell me about it.” Gaila touched his arm

_so sweet_

and then blinked one eye at him again before walking away. Definitely a facial tic, Spock concluded.

 

 

Later, the _Enterprise_ left orbit around the Earth and shifted into full impulse power, warp factor one, warp factor three, warp factor five, its mission of exploration and peace commenced. As Spock took his place at the science station to review the research on their first destination—a small class M planet orbiting Alpha Centauri C—he reminded himself of a fact he had considered many times before: that from now on, whenever he and the crew set foot on a new planet, he would be no more alien than the rest of them.

 

* * *

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

  

“Come in, Spock,” he heard as the doors opened.

“Captain,” Spock greeted him and stood at attention just inside the entryway.

Pike sat with his elbows on his desk and one hand scratching at the back of his head. He looked nervous for a man who was in his own quarters. “Come here, Spock, sit down. I need to talk to you.”

The captain’s vague message— _Meet me in my quarters 2100—_ and his stressed appearance unsettled Spock. He rarely met the captain in his quarters, only when he had made some error that Pike saw fit to correct privately.

“I know you’re a busy man, Spock, so I’ll get right down to it. Starfleet’s offered me a position as fleet captain out of San Francisco, and I’m gonna take it. After the Enterprise finishes up the mission in this quadrant, she’ll be headed home. I’ll stay in San Francisco, and the Enterprise will get a refit before being sent back out.”

The room was too hot, suddenly, and Spock's uniform too tight, the material too rough. The sounds of a starship, usually white noise, rose to a clamor.

 _Congratulate him_. “It is an impressive achievement,” Spock said.

Pike then continued, “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you in the dust. I’m recommending you as first officer for the new crew.”

“I am gratified,” he said, and now he was cold, even colder than he usually felt on the ship.

Pike sighed. “Well, I guess that’s the most I’m gonna get out of you. If you accept, you’ll be serving under Captain Kirk for a five-year—”

“Kirk?” Spock interrupted. He rarely interrupted anyone, almost never his captain, and the surprise showed on Pike’s face when he did. “The same Kirk who reprogrammed the Kobayashi Maru?”

Pike smirked. “He’s a good kid, Spock. Just likes to get everything right, even if he has to rearrange a few things.”

'Rearrange a few things' was a very kind way to put it, Spock thought. James Kirk could well have been expelled from Starfleet for academic misconduct. The fact that he was instead rewarded for his creative thinking was irrelevant.

“If memory serves, Mr. Kirk graduated from Starfleet Academy less than eight years ago,” Spock continued. “Would it not be wiser to choose an officer with more experience?”

“You trying to put your own name in the running?” Pike challenged. Although the tone of his voice was brusque, something made Spock suspect that if he wanted the captaincy, Pike would give it to him.

“Negative,” he replied, and it was the truth. “I am merely concerned that this Kirk may be a reckless choice.”

“Well, I didn’t invite you over to talk about boys, Spock; all I need from you is a yes or a no. Do you want to be first officer of the Enterprise?”

It was a trick question, Spock knew, because once Pike stepped off the ship, it would cease to be the Enterprise.

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

 

  

The Enterprise’s new captain, James Kirk, had sent several messages to Spock requesting to meet with him. Spock sent curt replies to each, explaining that he was busy this Sunday, this Friday, next Monday, and wouldn’t be able to meet with Kirk on those days. Kirk’s messages—initially bright and verbose—grew shorter with each response, until they ceased altogether.

Spock knew he was making a mistake by rebuffing him. If he ever hoped to build a working relationship with Kirk that was as smooth and functional as the one he had had with Pike, he needed to be open, receptive, communicative.

But he did not know this Kirk, and he did not know this new crew, and he would hardly know his own ship. After eleven years, four months, and five days of carefully constructing his environment, his habits, his relationships, he would have to start over. He would be the Vulcan again, an oddity. He would receive unwelcome touches from crewmen who were either ignorant of Vulcan culture or determined to defy it. There would be whispers and laughs, looks of curiosity and fear and distaste, again. And all of it would once again be his alone to bear.

 

* * *

  

 

_❝ If this self of mine doesn’t belong in this world, I’ll be my own world, I’ll be a world complete in myself. ❞ 2_

 

* * *

 

“There he is now,” Captain Pike murmured, his eyes straying from Spock’s to follow something in the distance. “Kirk! Get over here!” he barked. The severity of his tone suggested a hostile relationship between the two men, and Spock wondered why Pike would have chosen a man he disliked to be his successor—especially if that man was Starfleet’s youngest captain ever. The decision sparked a certain amount of controversy.

Spock repositioned himself closer to Captain Pike so that Kirk would have enough room to stand across from them in the crowded area. Moments later, a man slipped into the space that Spock had left and, rather than hold out his hand for a customary Terran greeting, drew Pike into a hug.

This startled Spock. Pike was not a man given to such displays. He surmised that this Kirk must be especially tactile, and prepared himself to have to explain the Vulcan aversion to this kind of behavior.

“Congratulations, sir,” Kirk said after they parted, still grasping Pike’s upper arms. “And thank you again. It’s truly an honor.”

“Alright, alright,” Pike said, shaking off Kirk’s hold. He was smiling. “Jim, this is my right hand, Lieutenant Commander Spock. Spock, this is Captain James Kirk.”

James Kirk turned his attention toward Spock, and Spock found himself straightening his spine, drawing himself up taller and fighting for an appearance of neutrality, of impassivity.

“Mr. Spock.” Captain Kirk smiled at him and raised the ta’al in greeting. “Dif-tor heh smusma.”

The words were practiced but sure. Spock revised his previous assumption about Kirk—the man was not invasive, but simply focused his attention fully on whoever was in front of him.

Spock had known humans who were intense, whose attention felt like a concentrated beam of light, like a laser determined to cut through him. Kirk, by contrast, radiated. The heat of his gaze, his smile, soaked into Spock like the gentle rays of Earth’s sun.

He raised his own hand in response. “[Sochya eh dif](/).”

Kirk beamed at him, looked him up and down. His smile morphed from a wide grin to a small, shy smile. Heat rose to Spock’s cheeks; he hastily conjured up memories of cold nights in the desert, and the cold gaze of his Vulcan instructors. He felt an uncommon urge to break the silence between them, even opened his mouth and hoped that the words would follow, but his brain stalled.

“Looks like the two of you will get along just fine,” Pike interjected. This shook both men from their reveries; Spock closed his mouth, and Kirk nodded in assent, his head turning to Captain Pike.

“I certainly hope so,” he said smoothly.

Pike’s eyes flicked to Spock briefly and then back to Kirk. “C’mon, Kirk. I’ve been avoiding higher-ups all night, and I’d like to palm you off on them so I can go home.”

Kirk laughed. “What about Mr. Spock? Surely he’s more diverting.”

Pike waved a hand in dismissal. “Spock doesn’t need to schmooze. You do.”

Kirk laughed again. He laughed so easily, freely, but his laugh was not loud or sharp or cruel. It was gentle; it made Spock feel comfortable in a setting where he would normally feel anything but. In the cacophony of the party, it acted as a focal point. _You Are Here_ , it said. _Welcome_.

“Alright then. Mr. Spock, it was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Kirk’s hand was raised in the ta’al again, and the smaller, shier smile had returned to his face. This time, Spock reacted appropriately.

“Live long and prosper,” he said in response, thinking it fair that he salute Kirk in his own language, since he had greeted Spock in his.

“Peace and long life,” Kirk responded, and was swept away by Pike.

 

 

No longer anchored to Captain Pike, Spock made his way out of the thickest part of the crowd toward the edges of the room, where there were fewer people to bump into him, and settled at a small table.

The first people to approach him at his table were Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov, the ship’s new helmsmen. Chekov held his hand out to shake, but Sulu corrected him coolly, and their conversation went well after that. Next came Christine Chapel, who seemed warm but level-headed, and who reminded Spock in some ways of Number One.

Others came and went, and Spock drifted in and out of a sort of light trance that centered him when he was alone and allowed him to hold cordial conversation with a total of 14 new crew members over the course of the night. The crowd began to thin as the night continued, but Spock was never alone for long.

He was engaged in an interesting discussion about possible (though highly experimental) improvements to the ship’s warp engine with Montgomery Scott, whose speech capabilities and thought process were really quite remarkable in his advanced state of inebriation, when Captain Kirk appeared behind the engineer.

Spock made eye contact with him but fought not to react. It would be rude, he reasoned, to interrupt Mr. Scott. Kirk winked at Spock and tapped the engineer on his left shoulder, then stole into the seat to his right when Mr. Scott turned to look.

“I coulda sworn…” Scott turned back around and startled when he noticed Kirk next to him. “Captain!”

Kirk grinned and offered his hand. “How are ya, Scotty?”

Mr. Scott shook his hand vigorously with his right, scotch splashing over the edges of his glass in his left. “Oh, I’m having a grand old time! I was just telling Mr. Spock here about my idea for the warp engine. He thinks it’s _fascinatin’_.” The engineer beamed as he recalled the praise. “And they told me he was a stiff!”

“Well, whoever they are, they just haven’t experienced Mr. Spock’s charm,” Kirk replied after a pause that perhaps only Spock felt.

Mr. Scott threw an arm around the captain’s shoulders and smiled across the table at Spock. “Aye, sir. He’s a keeper, this one. You better make sure he stays outta trouble.”

“That is always my intention, Mr. Scott,” Spock noted. Indeed, he had scarcely had to visit sickbay while serving under Pike. Caution had served him well.

Both men laughed at this response, and then Mr. Scott used the captain’s shoulder to leverage himself out of his chair and to his feet.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I reckon I’ve had enough for one night, so I’ll be seeing the two of you. Mr. Spock, glad to be workin’ with you.” He set off toward the door, only bumping into one person on his way out.

Spock glanced toward the center of the room. The crowd was half its initial size at most.

“I think he’s had enough for all _three_ of us for one night,” Kirk joked.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “His ability to conceal his impaired state is quite impressive.”

“Yes, well, he’s had plenty of practice.”

Spock nodded and then fell silent, waiting for Kirk to excuse himself. He had said hello to his friend, and now that he was gone, Spock expected the conversation would come to an end shortly. The two of them had already been introduced; there was no need for Kirk to hang around a little corner table. He should be the person around whom all others in the room revolve.

“I tried to get a hold of you a while back, but you’re a hard man to pin down,” Kirk said.

“Forgive me, captain. I had a number of matters to attend to while the Enterprise was grounded.”

Kirk held up a hand in a gesture which Spock interpreted as a pardon. “I trust you’ll be close at hand when I need you in the future.”

“Affirmative.” Pike had often commented on Spock’s almost supernatural ability to anticipate when he would be needed and arrive even before Pike knew he needed him. Though this supposed intuition was unconscious and therefore not a result of his own work, Spock found that he took a certain pride in it, and that he hoped Captain Kirk would also find him to be satisfactory in this regard.

“Pike tells me you were the first Vulcan to turn down admission to the VSA,” said the captain.

Spock looked at Kirk, who had settled back into his seat and begun using the back of the now-vacant chair to his left as an armrest. He looked comfortable as he sipped from his mostly-full drink, and Spock realized—obvious—that Kirk had come to talk to him.

“When were you at the academy?” Kirk asked.

“I enrolled in 2250. I was assigned to the Enterprise in 2254.”

“Eleven years,” Kirk mused, almost to himself. “Are you going to miss him? Pike, that is.”

The question brought him up short. Nobody had ever suggested that the Vulcan science officer had any sort of emotional attachment to his captain.

“I am gratified that he has received the promotion which was his due,” Spock said carefully.

“But eleven years together,” Kirk pressed. “He was your mentor—won’t you feel sad to be on the Enterprise without him?”

“‘Feel’, sir?”

It was the kind of response that had, on occasion, drawn tears from his mother. It was the kind of response that had gotten him slapped once at the Academy. It was the kind of response that made humans react with hurt, anger, or disgust. It was the kind of response he had learned to wield effectively over the years, to maintain polite but distant relations with peers and crew mates. It rose to his lips almost unbidden, now.

Kirk's brow furrowed and his shoulders straightened, and Spock wondered if that was how he looked when he read Spock’s comm responses to his requests for dinner, lunch, coffee. His was a relatively calm reaction, but he knew he had been pushed away—that much was clear.

“I suppose not,” Kirk said.

The quiet acquiescence made Spock regret his words in an instant. He searched his mind, grasping for an olive branch of some sort, some way to recover Kirk’s good humor. But his captain beat him to the punch.

“Well, if you ever find yourself missing his warmth,” Kirk smiled, “I know of a man with a similar disposition. A good friend, and a better doctor.”

“What the hell're you telling him about me?” a voice interjected from behind Spock, and Kirk laughed and laughed.

 

* * *

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

* * *

  

“Come in, Spock,” he heard through the door just before it opened.

“Captain.” Spock stepped just inside the room and clasped his hands behind his back. The temperature in Kirk’s quarters had been adjusted for his comfort, he perceived; but if he was warm, then Kirk must have been sweltering.

Kirk put down the PADD that was in his hands and stood up from his desk chair. He smiled at Spock, gestured toward the chair on the other side of his desk. Spock dipped his chin and sat; Kirk sat.

“I believe I mentioned in my comm that I’m meeting with the crew members who are staying on from Pike, just to get to know them a little better. So that’s why I called you here tonight.”

“That is wise.”

“And I’m meeting with you first because, well, you’re my First.”

Spock nodded; Kirk studied him for a moment.

“Do you have any reservations about embarking on a five-year mission?” Kirk asked. The question was perfunctory, and would probably be asked of all the crewmen the captain planned to meet with.

Spock took a moment to consider his answer. “Negative. I have prepared myself adequately.”

“Are you excited?” Kirk’s eyes shone with amusement.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I expect we will make a number of discoveries over the course of the mission.”

Kirk laughed musically. “I hope so, too.”

“I must apologize for the way I have treated you, Captain,” Spock blurted.

Kirk’s eyebrows knitted together in concern or confusion. “I don’t understand, Mr. Spock.”

“Before we met at Captain Pike’s ceremony, I rebuffed your invitations to meet. Then, when we spoke at the ceremony, I was impolite to you. Though there are reasons for my actions, those reasons do not excuse them. I hope you do not bear ill will toward me, and I assure you that I bear none toward you. I hope that my mistakes will not affect—”

“Spock, Spock!” Kirk interrupted. “I don’t bear any ill will toward you. I know that there are reasons for why you weren’t very... forthcoming. I understand there’s a cultural difference, and that even for a human I can come on strong. It’s alright. Water under the bridge.”

“Vulcan customs do account for some of my standoffishness; however, I must confess that they do not account for all of it. The truth is that Captain Pike’s leaving the Enterprise took me by surprise. It was difficult for me to adjust to the idea of serving under another captain when I had grown so accustomed to working under him. Unfortunately, that difficulty affected me more deeply than I would have admitted at the time.”

Kirk stared quietly for several moments before leaning forward in his chair and folding his hands on top of the desk. “Thank you for being so candid with me,” he said, his voice warm and soothing. “I suppose that’s why you reacted the way you did when I asked how you felt about Pike leaving. I was poking a bruise.”

“Indeed.”

“You know, of course, that Dr. McCoy is a psychologist. If you’re experiencing any... mental distress,” Kirk said, “we can set you up with an appointment with him. Just talking, nothing serious; and everything confidential, of course.”

“Thank you, Captain, but I do not believe it will be necessary. I spent a great deal of time meditating before we left Earth, and have gained a fuller appreciation for the opportunities presented by a new captain and a new crew.”

Kirk smiled, but it lasted only a moment before his eyebrows furrowed in concern again. “Well, he’s always available to you if you ever feel you need to talk to him. So am I.”

Spock shifted in his seat, resisted the urge to employ his knee-jerk response— _feel?_

“Thank you, sir,” he repeated, not trusting his words any further than that.

“Promise me you won’t keep anything like that from me, going forward, Kirk insisted. “Any—troubles you have, no matter how small.”

“I will keep you apprised of any such concerns.”

The captain nodded but became lost in thought.

“I interrupted your questioning about the mission,” Spock prompted, hoping that the two of them could forget everything that had just transpired.

“Yes. Yes, that’s right,” Kirk responded, and visibly switched gears. “Is, uh, is there anything different you would like to see in the next five years that you didn’t see under Pike’s command, or anything you would like to stay the same?” His expression had returned to what it had been when he asked his first question: attentive, open, unassuming, and so beautiful it hurt.

_Spock_

The thought intruded into his mind like a hand reaching out to wake him from a dream. He rolled over.

“...know he has a different philosophy, but I prefer to be friendly with each and every member of my…”

_[sa-kai  
](/)hear me_

Spock took a deep breath and reluctantly turned inward to quiet the disturbance.

_T’Pring  
not your affair _

he answered his bondmate viciously. There was mild surprise, but it was quickly smothered.

_human relationships are dependent volatile destructive  
it is unnecessary illogical to want _

Spock split his being in two, severing his contact with reality as he traveled deep into his own mind. Half of him remained on the Enterprise, listening to his captain and responding through a perfectly icy, Vulcan veneer. The other half walked through the red forests of Nibiru, thick and primitive and directionless.

“Spock.”

He turned and saw T’Pring, standing still and proud. Here, they did not raise the ta’al.

“I do not require your counsel in my private affairs. You are free to return to your own now,” he said. He felt the muscles of his face twitching in anger and knew that he was powerless to stop them.

“I am aware of your independence. You have always exercised it vigorously.”

Spock laughed; the sound of it shocked him, but he continued. “You refer to my refusal to pursue my studies on Vulcan.” He looked at his own feet, then turned to a nearby tree and began to pick at its bark idly. “I do not expect you to understand, but I could not remain there any longer.”

“No. I refer to your rejection of our bond.”

Spock looked up in surprise. T’Pring had not moved.

“You were alone, Spock. I know this. But so was I.”

Guilt flooded him, flowing from the bamboo-like tree into his fingertips. He jerked his hand away.

“I only wanted to shield you from my mental failings,” he said. “From the shame of having a bondmate that was half-human.”

T’Pring considered this. “It is true that I have little desire to feel what you feel,” she said. “I merely point out that, as a bondmate, you have been negligent.”

“I have never intended to hurt you.”

“You never have.”

Spock looked at her, so cold and perfectly motionless, even in this wild place. He inhaled, exhaled. “I do not understand how you are able to behave the same way here that you do out there.”

T’Pring’s head cocked slightly to the side in confusion. Spock scoffed; whether at her or himself, he did not know, but felt ashamed of it either way.

“I have no wish to upset you, Spock,” she said. “But allow me to offer my perspective.”

He began to pace slowly, wandering, and gestured for her to continue.

“Our link has fallen into disuse. I expect you have felt nothing from me in many years, and I have felt almost nothing from you. This arrangement has served us both well.” She paused briefly, waiting until Spock looked up at her to go on. “Several weeks ago, I felt a surge of emotion from our link. In its intensity, it nearly caused me to react physically.”

Spock laughed again. “Nearly.”

She continued as if he had not spoken. “It was on the night you met Captain Kirk.”

Spock froze. Red vines curled around his feet like snakes; he kicked them away violently.

T’Pring suddenly softened, warmed, and she took a step towards Spock. “You do not know how proud you have made Vulcan. How you fascinate our people. Even those who once rejected you.” She took another step. “For your mind to be diminished or destroyed by an entanglement with a human… It would be a great loss for all of us. Felt by all of us.” She took another step, and another.

Though he knew her advance was wholly benevolent, Spock felt himself shaking, then stumbling, then cowering. “Please don't touch me,” he begged.

T’Pring looked down, silent for several seconds before crouching beside him. “Of course not,” she said. The ground beneath him softened as relief flooded through him.

“You called me [sa-kai](/),” he said in a choked voice. "Not [ashayam](/)."

“Yes,” she replied, and for the first time her mouth twitched into a smile. “That word in my vocabulary is reserved for another. I consider sa-kai to be the right word, for you.”

“You are seldom wrong,” he said. He breathed deeply, trying to center himself. They sat in silence for forty seconds as Spock recovered from his brief episode of panic.

“I will leave you now, Spock. You have business, as do I.” She stood fluidly; he, clumsily. “All I ask is that you remember my words. Humans can be dangerous to beings like ourselves, and this Kirk seems to have proved particularly dangerous to you.”

“Thank you, T’Pring,” he whispered. “Be well.”

“Live long and prosper,” she corrected him, and the forest seemed to stretch between them until she appeared nearly a mile away.

“Sochya eh dif,” he said, and was alone.

 

 

Or so he thought.

_Spock_

The voice did not come from his bond with T’Pring; in fact, he did not know where it came from. He whipped around, but there was only more forest, more redness, more—

“Mr. Spock?”

He was in the captain’s quarters, sitting in a chair, hands folded in his lap. He blinked.

“I apologize, captain. To use a human expression, I was ‘lost in thought’.”

James Kirk smiled. “That’s quite alright, Mr. Spock. It’s been a long day, for all of us. I’ll let you go now, but only if you promise me you’ll go to your quarters and get some rest.”

Spock’s mouth did not twitch in the slightest. “Affirmative, sir.”

“Thank you again for taking the time.” Kirk ushered him out kindly, reiterating his command as he did so. As Spock made the short walk to his quarters, he took solace in the clearness of the path.

 

* * *

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

* * *

  

_❝ As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; the storm booming without in solemn swells; I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. ❞ 3_

 

* * *

  

A year of observation led Spock to the conclusion that friendship expresses itself quite variably in humans. The friendship between Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov, for example, was amiable in a very traditional way; the two men chatted together, made each other laugh, and spent a moderate amount of time together off-duty. Each also attempted to engage the other in their own interests: Sulu often lectured Chekov about Earth’s storied maritime criminals of the early modern period, while Chekov interrupted with details about certain Russian advancements (although Sulu appeared to be the more scrupulous student of history). Theirs was a friendship characterized by easy and comfortable conversation. Similar dynamics were present between Nyota Uhura and Christine Chapel, Lieutenant Kyle and Yeoman Rand, and at least 17 other distinct pairs of crew members that he had had the opportunity to observe.

Another type of human friendship altogether presented itself through James Kirk and Leonard McCoy. Though the captain referred to Dr. McCoy with a nickname (which indicates affection), the two shared a rapport which could be outright hostile at times. But this hostility somehow coexisted with a deep warmth between the two of them, and never did even the most heated exchange result in the bearing of grudges.

Even under Pike’s command, Spock had struggled to interpret interactions between his captain and first officer, who maintained a comparable dialogue. It was difficult to accept that much of the social etiquette he had so painstakingly tried to internalize simply did not apply between close friends. He took first to human psychology textbooks, then to Earth prose and poetry to determine the meaning of friendship.

Kirk stopped by his quarters one day while he was reading a volume of poetry by Katherine Philips, and as Spock explained himself, the captain smiled.

“‘I am not thine, but thee,’” he quoted.

Spock raised an eyebrow but refrained from comment. The captain was remarkably well-read; it should not surprise Spock that he would be familiar with that line.

“I’ll let you get back to your research. Let me know if you have a breakthrough,” he said. Amiable, easy, affectionate, warm.

“Captain—” he began, but it was a slip-up. He backed off immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Spock?”

He paused, racked his brain, identified an exit strategy. “I believe Dr. McCoy intended to meet with you. The Psi 2000 research team still have not provided their immunization records.”

“Well, I hope for their sake that they send them soon. You know Bones, he doesn’t like to wait around.” Kirk smiled and backed toward the door. “I’ll see you on the bridge, Spock.”

Spock nodded and set down his book.

 

 

Had Spock known what awaited them on Psi 2000, he would never have filled his head with human poetry and thoughts of friendship.

Though frozen, barren, and nearly uninhabited, the planet was far from inert; and its explosive, self-destructive nature was rendered communicable in the form of the polywater virus. Spock watched it spread among the crew with curiosity and a little disdain, knowing he could not possibly be affected. His biology was different, as McCoy had pointed out, and so was his mind. His walls would not crumble so easily.

So he thought. But all it took was one touch (a thing he had always tried to avoid, and surely this proved its evil), and the virus took hold in him just the same.

Nurse Chapel's declaration unmoored him and he drifted through the corridors as thoughts flooded his mind.

“Okay, Spock. Just remember that I love you.” His mother's voice floated to the surface, and was drowned out by his own inadequate response:

“It would be difficult to forget.”

“Where have you been? What happened?”

Not his mother's voice, or his own, but Kirk's. He was in the briefing room, and the captain was with him. Kirk spoke frantically, arguing for an emergency restart of engines, but Spock could hardly hear him. He was deep underwater. 

Suddenly, pain flared on Spock's face—a physical pain, a real pain. A pain he could accept. Kirk had slapped him across the face.

Spock faced his captain directly, aware now of where he stood. “Jim. When I feel friendship for you, I am ashamed.” The declaration took him by surprise even as he made it, but the truth of it—every part of it—had something of a sobering effect on him. He could feel his higher thought processes reawakening, beginning to work at the real, physical problem at hand.

Jim continued to hit him, and finally Spock's body responded in kind.

 _The engine restart_. “It's never been done,” he argued.

“Don't tell me that again, Science Officer!” Jim shouted. “It's a theory. It's possible. We may go up into the biggest ball of fire since the last sun in these parts exploded, but we've got to take that one-in-ten-thousand chance!”

Each word that left the captain's lips pulled Spock's mind out of the rough surf until he was gasping for breath on the shore. He could see himself now, and he could see Kirk, and he could see the solution: a formula that related time and antimatter which could be their only hope of escaping Psi 2000's imminent explosion.

“Captain.”

 

 

The crew settled back into their normal behaviors soon after Dr. McCoy administered the cure to the polywater virus. There seemed to be an understanding that nobody ought to be held accountable for the past three days' actions; after all, since the Enterprise itself had regressed three days in time, the actions they all remembered had not, strictly speaking, actually happened.

Spock knew this, and knew that Kirk did not hold him in a lesser regard for what he had divulged under the influence of the virus. And yet Spock could not forgive himself for what he had said. Still, he tried to reason with himself, it was unlikely the captain would broach the subject.

Spock exited his quarters and made the brief walk to the captain's. He was about to request entrance when the doors opened.

“Come in, Mr. Spock.”

Spock blinked, then complied. He was beginning to think that Kirk's ability to anticipate him bordered on prophetic.

Kirk smiled from where he sat at his desk. “I heard you outside. And... I was hoping you might stop by.”

Spock accepted his answer. “You have said in the past that you enjoy collecting antique books, particularly of classic Earth literature.”

Kirk's face was pleasantly bemused. “Yes, that's right.”

Spock held out his copy of the poems of Katherine Phillips. “I purchased it at a market on Starbase 107. The merchant assured me of its authenticity, although its binding appears to be inadequately weathered for its age. Nevertheless, you may add it to your collection if you wish.”

Kirk stood and moved toward him. Oddly, his face—which was normally so open—was unreadable to Spock. “You're giving me a book of poetry.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I no longer require it.”

Amusement trickled in to Kirk's expression. “I see. Does that have anything to do with the fact that you've discovered what it means to feel friendship?”

A beat of silence passed as Spock quickly reevaluated his thinking. He had expected Kirk would not bring it up; he should have realized that Jim had no relationship with the expected. “Captain, I—”

Kirk held up a hand. “Spock, it's alright. I know your customs are different. You don't need to explain.” He took the book with one hand, but for a moment Spock's fingers failed to release it, and it bridged the two men almost like touch. With Jim's hands so close to his, Spock's deeply-buried Vulcan instincts began crying out to him so loud that he almost didn't hear his captain say, “Thank you.”

Spock inhaled, exhaled, let go of the book, and clasped his hands behind his back. “You are welcome, Captain.”

Kirk smiled perfectly.

 

 

In his quarters, Spock reflected on recent events—his examinations of friendship, his humiliating admission to the captain, and his captain's gentle reassurance—and it dawned on him with perfect clarity why this Enterprise was different from the last.

Captain Pike was kind, and firm, and it was an honor to serve under him. He devoted himself to the service. He did not smile often, a fact for which Spock was grateful, as he was therefore never expected to smile in return.

But Captain Kirk was different. Captain Kirk smiled easily. He smiled whenever the crew discovered something new and wonderful. He smiled when they managed to get through something terrible. When the Enterprise was soaring through space, and it was quiet on the bridge, Jim would turn to Spock and smile like he was telling him a secret. Spock always kept it.

He knew the word for what he felt, had heard it roll so easily off the tongues of his peers at the Academy, of his crewmates on the Enterprise then, and his crewmates on the Enterprise now. But the word didn’t belong to him, so he dispelled it from his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Stephen Marche, ["Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?"](https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/05/is-facebook-making-us-lonely/308930/)
> 
> 2 Indra Sinha, _Animal's People_
> 
> 3 Herman Melville, _[Moby-Dick](http://www.powermobydick.com/Moby010.html)_
> 
>  
> 
> [Vulcan Language Dictionary](https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> if you are enjoying this story PLEASE consider [donating to my paypal](https://paypal.me/williamshatspeare); i would really, really appreciate it.
> 
> thanks for reading everyone!!!


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